I Made You
by allonsysilvertongue
Summary: "Haymitch was fast losing grasp of his surroundings. His mind fell deeper and deeper into a dark abyss that seemed to welcome him readily and almost greedily. He let himself go." A different take on Haymitch's life and how Effie Trinket became embroiled in it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The first five paragraph came directly from the work of Suzanne Collins, to which due credit has to be given. Borrowing her characters, again.**

* * *

**I**

_"Is that what happened to you?_

_"No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field. Snow had no one to use against me._

_"I'm surprised he didn't just kill you."_

_"Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems. But he knew he had no leverage against me._

_"Until Peeta and I came along."_

He had lied when Katniss had asked but there was one secret he never told Katniss, one he didn't think she needed to know. The only other person in the District Twelve team to know was Effie and she never breathed a word of it to anyone.

And she was lost to him; out of his reach, out of touch, unaware if she was alive or dead. His hand closed around the small, metal hair pin in his pocket as old as his relationship with Effie.

_Be safe_, he prayed silently to himself, repeating the words she whispered to him so many nights ago.

XxX

Haymitch burst through the dark alleyway south of the Capitol. The quiet alley tucked away at an inconspicuous corner of the majestic city was sufficiently illuminated by a dying street light. He glanced around, his vision blurred and his nose stuffy, and heaved a sigh of relief when he noted that he was alone.

The young man, who had just turned eighteen three days ago took a deep shuddering breath of the cold air. It pierced through his lungs and he prayed to the Gods and the Angels his mother once told him before, for his life to end. _Does one die from inhaling cold air?_ He doubted it. It was just his luck to live through another day.

He continued stumbling unsteadily on his feet. Haymitch pressed the palm of his hand into his eyes, desperately wishing for his vision to return. He was afraid. He had no idea what sort of drugs he had just ingested, what recreational chemicals he had been given by that large frame man whose apartment he had just left.

He felt the bile rose in his throat. He was assaulted by the memory of that man's hands on his neck, his chest and … Haymitch shuddered. In the distance, he saw a bright sign which was in such contrast against the night sky. He made a bee line for it staggering across the streets, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the bright, ferocious head lights of the cars madly honking at him.

It was a liquor store and by some miracle, he had made it across the street intact. The man behind the counter turned to see that night's customer as the bell above the door jingled to signal a new arrival. He was hideous, Haymitch noted, while he tried hard not to stare. That man bore fangs and there was a small tattoo of a bat on his upper right eyebrow. Sometimes he wondered how terribly far the Capitol had fallen from grace.

"What'd you need, sweetheart?" he said.

He flinched.

"Not your sweetheart," Haymitch mumbled. "I need something… something that will…"

"Ah, I know what you're looking for," the man replied, a lone finger unconsciously tracing the bat tattoo on his face. "Haymitch Abernathy, right? No charge, it's on me."

Haymitch gathered the three bottle of vodka in his hands, nodded his thanks and stumbled out of the shop. His skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his heart rate had elevated and Haymitch felt as though he was going to be sick.

With shaky hands, he cracked opened one of the bottles and brought it up to his lips. It wasn't as though he never had alcohol before. He had, of course, but never the strong stuff. Haymitch shut his eyes and swallowed the liquid, grimacing slightly as it left a trail of fire down his throat. He drank some more.

He hated it here. Hated how he was made to do the bidding of men and women who had paid for a night with him. Haymitch couldn't tell if the vodka had caused his eyes to water or because he couldn't take the memory of that evening, the worst client he ever had. Either way, it doesn't matter. He was sitting on the side walk, helpless and miserable, and very, very disoriented.

Haymitch was fast losing grasp of his surroundings. His mind fell deeper and deeper into a dark abyss that seemed to welcome him readily and almost greedily. He let himself go.

XxX

Haymitch remembered the feeling of his legs dangling over the edge of a branch, secreted away amongst the thick leaves that hid him from view. He could see everything from that vantage point perched high up on a tree at the meadow. This was his place and no one, not even his girl knew of it.

That was the trick. To think of that tree and that branch where he used to sit on and forget the fact that at the moment, some woman twice his age was kissing his neck. He imagined the wind blowing against his face, the dark green leaves, his brother calling out for him as he passed by that tree. His young, wide eyed brother; dead by the Capitol hands. His eyes flew opened and the rage took hold of him. He flipped the woman on her back and in an attempt to forget his family, he fucked her.

When he was summoned to a luxurious hotel located in the middle of the City Centre, he thought nothing of it. He had learnt that it was a complete waste of time trying to anticipate who his client would be. It was routine at this point in his life – enter the room, do whatever they want you to do, leave and try to forget everything.

Unlike any of his other experiences, the room he walked in was flooded with light. In the middle of the room was a queen size bed, and perched on it with her hands under her thighs sat a very nervous looking young girl.

He cocked his head to the side and took in the sight of her. Taking a deep breath as he prepared himself for the role of one of the many Capitol's lover boys Haymitch walked towards her with measured steps. Her eyes never left his face. She watched him with an avid fascination and fear. He found this slightly disconcerting. People were usually excited to meet him.

Haymitch caressed her cheeks and swept the lock of blonde hair over her shoulders. He paused, and ran his fingers through her hair again. That felt natural, a concept that was so foreign in a land where plasticity ran rampant.

He stooped forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. Haymitch knew his role and he could perform it almost with his eyes closed. She didn't kiss him back; in fact she pushed him away.

"No," she croaked, "please, stop."

Haymitch pulled back, and looked at her. She dropped her gaze. _What a peculiar girl._

"Please don't touch me," she whispered softly, her voice almost begging for him to accede to her request.

Haymitch looked around; his eyes scanning for a hidden camera or something, anything that might clue him in as to what was going on. _Was this some sort of test? A trick?_

"I – I won't," he replied, dropping down on the bed next to her. "What do you want me for? What do you want me to do?"

She shook her head, still sitting on her hands. "Nothing – I don't want you to do anything."

Haymitch frowned. "I don't understand," he muttered to himself. He gave the girl next to him a side long glance. She couldn't be any older than him.

"I'm just here to accompany you, then? You must be lonely," he asked, trying hard to keep the acidic tone off his voice, running a finger down her arm. Some of his clients were sad, lonely old woman who wanted to feel young again. But this girl didn't need to feel young. She was young. Perhaps she just needed a male companion.

"N – no," she stuttered, "I'm not lonely."

"Of course, you're not," he rolled his eyes and retracted his hand. What was he doing here?

"How long did my father bought you for?"

"The entire night so we're – what? Your father?"

She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "I turned eighteen yesterday and he – he thought that… He thought this would be a present that girls like myself would kill to have; to be able to spend the night with a handsome, famous victor especially the winner of the second quell."

"Your own father?" he asked in astonishment.

"I don't want to do anything of that sort, please," she said.

"I'll sit right here. I won't do anything," Haymitch reassured her, sliding down on to the floor at the foot of the bed.

She began to relax, pulling her hands out from under her thighs. The situation grew increasingly awkward and Haymitch turned on the television in the hotel room to distract himself from the girl's presence. He stared at the screen, not fully comprehending the movie that was currently playing.

After a while, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his neck slightly and the girl leaned forward towards him, still sitting on the bed.

"My name's Effie," she told him, "Effie Trinket."

"Haymitch," he nodded in response, "but you already know who I am."

"You've must have met many girls like myself."

"No," he replied. "They all wanted a piece of me. You don't. You got a boy you like?"

"No," she frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"

Haymitch shrugged. "Maybe it's him that you want. Not me; and your father just wasted his money."

"How long… How long have you been doing this?" she asked.

He clenched his jaw.

"It feels like I've been doing this forever," he admitted. "I should go. The room has been booked till morning so you can check out by then. Tell your father that you had a good time, in case he asked," he nodded his head at her and moved to stand up.

"No, wait," she gripped the edges of his sleeve. "People talk in the Capitol. If you leave now and someone sees you, they would start to wonder and if word gets back to my father, he would know. And… It's past midnight. It would be bad mannered of me to allow you to walk off in the middle of the night."

XxX

They got to talking. There was nothing else to do while he waited for the sun to rise.

"So you're a virgin?" he asked. "Is that why you don't want to me to have sex with you? Scared?"

"I – Yes, to your first question," she blushed.

"Why's that? As far as I'm aware, everyone's seems to be enjoying screwing everyone else."

"Well, I'm not just "everyone" now, am I?" she sniffed disdainfully. The very idea that she did not stand out as an individual was appalling. Effie hesitated before speaking up again, "I just have this notion that my first time should be with someone I love and who loves me back in return. Not… Not a transaction or – or a birthday present."

"Love?" he wrinkled his eyebrows. "What are you? A closet romantic? You people are not capable of love."

Effie looked quite taken aback by the negativity in his statement. "Of course, we are. Why would you say such a horrendous thing?"

"Because I don't believe there is such thing as love anymore. Being a victor taught me that. It's just sex and money."

"You're not at all how I imagined you to be. You're quite the pessimist," Effie noted.

"And you're just as superficial as the whole lot of them."

"If you're not all happy about doing what you're doing, why don't you stop?" she asked logically. "There are other things victors could do and you're only 21, the possibilities are endless!"

Haymitch laughed; a long, terrible laugh that made the hairs on Effie's neck stand.

"As if I had a choice," he muttered quietly to himself when he finally sobered up.

"You don't like what you're doing, do you?" she asked.

"That's not a topic safe for discussion," Haymitch replied dismissively.

Effie, in her naiveté, continued undeterred. "I can understand," she nodded as if she knew all about his life, "you're famous and handsome, and everybody wants to be with you. It could be tiring, I supposed. But, of course, it's difficult to say no. Not to mention that it would be rude to say no. But …"

"But?" he asked curiously, wanting to know what other rubbish this clueless young Capitol girl could possibly spout.

"It's all about presentation and appearances here in the Capitol. I don't know how it's done where you came from," she bit her lip. "So… So, if you don't want to have to sleep with someone or go out with them, you could just… say, you can pretend to be drunk? Or pretend you are high on morphling or some other recreational drugs? I'm sure nobody wants to be seen with people like that. It won't be good for their reputation. I, for one, wouldn't want to be associated with anyone of that sort."

Haymitch stared at her. Somewhere during their talk, she had slid down and joined him on the floor, sitting primly next to him. His eyes flickered to the round table next to the window where an assortment of liquors had been arranged carefully. He considered what she said and how easily he could achieve that. Not the drugs, though. He had been drugged three years ago and his stomach still churned at the memory of escaping that man's apartment. But since that same night that Haymitch had stumbled into the liquor store and was introduced to the hard liquors, he constantly went back to them to help him cope in the darkest of time. He would rather take the booze than the drugs. It helped him numb the pain and forget without making him feel wretched.

He had been quite for far too long and Effie, thinking that he had dismissed what she said, moved on to a different topic.

"My father spent a lot of money on you," she broached a topic, "for tonight. You don't come cheap."

Haymitch flinched at how easily he had been objectified.

"You must be daddy's little girl," he sneered. "I don't know how it's done in the Capitol, but in District Twelve, fathers show their love for their daughters differently."

She shrugged. "It's a path into adulthood. It's not so much for me as it is for my family's reputation. It's a statement to be able to say during parties, that he has enough finances to send his daughter to you. That's how my father thinks and how he wants to be perceived by the society."

"Honestly? That is disturbing," Haymitch said. "And you allow it?"

"I'm not thrilled about it. I thought of not turning up at all tonight but… But I can't go against my father's wishes. It would be to dishonour him and it's rude. I have been brought up with perfect manners."

He chuckled. "You manners brought you here? The same manners that said it'll be okay to lie to your father?"

She looked at him guilty. "No, it's not okay. But this is my life and it's my body and, I – I get to choose who I want to be with. He doesn't have to know. As long as you don't tell anyone, it will be our secret."

Haymitch inclined his head in slight admiration. "You're a very odd person. You're like a jewel in this city of dust. There is something wholly innocent about you that I've never seen in anyone else. Don't ever change," he said seriously.

He slipped his hand inside his pocket and extracted a thick wad of cash which he handed to her. "This was paid to me. I'm assuming it's from your father and since I didn't perform what I was paid for, it's yours."

"You keep it," she returned it back to him. "It's his money. I don't care if he had paid his money worth but it was for you and so, you get to keep it. Buy something useful, okay?"

Haymitch pocketed them, gave her a last nod and headed towards the door.

"Wait, Haymitch," she stopped him for the second time that day. She pulled out a silver butterfly pin from her hair and pressed it into his palm. "This is my favourite. But it's yours, for you to remember tonight. For being a friend."

He gave her an amused, wry smile, his hand closing around the metal pin.

"See you, around," she said.

He left without knowing that during the course of the night, the things they discussed, the choices Effie had made and the choices he was about to make would seal their fate.

* * *

_to be continued..._

A/N - I wrote something with a similar theme last year in Darkest Before Dawn involving Effie. This fic came about because I was thinking that if Finnick had been sold by the Capitol, why wasn't Haymitch? And since the book was narrated by Katniss, it could be possible that he hid it away from her during MJ to stop her from worrying. Just something that crossed my mind.

Like it? Don't like it? Please review :)


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

His weekend passed in a blur of sordid clientele most of whom expected and demanded he performed things he never entertained the thought off before. By mid-week, Haymitch was exhausted beyond comprehension. He was never gladder to be on the train bound for District Twelve. Though he never learnt to call the place where he dwelt a home, the familiarity of it was welcoming. He would take it over any hotel room or any upscale apartment that his more than generous clients had offered to him. He will not and never intend to have a love nest for any of his clients to peruse the shell that housed his tired, aching soul.

Haymitch ran his hand over his worn-out face. He was only twenty-one but he felt like he had aged ten decades since becoming a victor.

How was it that his life could spiral out of control within five short years?

Victor's Village was a depressing place in all of District Twelve, in his opinion. The village span over quite a considerable number of acres and the only person who lived there was him. Haymitch occupied a single two story building that had clearly seen better days. He missed his house at the Seam but he would never return. Ever. It was not because victors were mandated to bask in the Capitol's generosity and live at Victor's Village but he could not return to a house that was once filled by his brother's laughter and his mother's tired sigh. The memories that haunt that place would break him as surely as the ghosts of his family that roamed the hall.

Walking in to the hell hole, Haymitch passed by an empty bottle of liquor from last week, sitting there harmlessly on the table. He chanced a glance at it and stopped short. A voice nagged at the back of his mind, the modulated voice of that peculiar girl he met that weekend. _El – Ellie? No, Effie._

Crossing the room in three quick strides, Haymitch snatched the bottle off the table and gulped down a mouthful of it. He had never lost himself to alcohol before. He drank for the way it burnt down his throat and spread warmth like wild fire through his body and that was that. But that night, Haymitch drank and drank until his vision blurred, until he had forgotten the faces of his family, his girl, the tributes he mentored and lost, until he had rid himself of the feelings of a thousand hands roaming his body and the honeyed whispers of strangers he couldn't trust as he pleased them in the dark. He suppressed them all and buried the human emotions he had felt so acutely prior to this. Slowly, the poison began to intoxicate him and numb his entire being.

Haymitch was lost to the world. He had taken the advice of a naïve young woman and believing that no one would want to be associated with a drunk, he had moulded himself to fit that very character to escape his fate. It was no contest, really. He would rather be burdened with a negative reputation than be sold for people's pleasure while he gritted his teeth and suffered in silence.

There was nothing else to lose except his life which he cared little about. He had no family to be threatened with. It was just him alone in this game and Snow had no more leverage against him. Haymitch was done being frightened. He was done being a puppet.

Alone protected him and in the darkness that had enveloped his house, Haymitch laughed - the sound bitter and tragic - as he found his freedom at the bottom of his whiskey bottle.

XxX

Seasons changed and the months bled into each other. Before he knew it, Haymitch was on the train back to the Capitol for the 56th Annual Hunger Games. He took note of his tributes names but that was as far as he went that year. Haymitch had given up on everything; his personal hygiene, trying to save his tributes lives and he had even given up on advising them to stay off the Cornucopia. They never listened so why should he bother?

The change in him was startling and people began to notice, especially the observant, critical young woman sitting on a stool at one of the more famous bar in the Capitol. Her eyes were glued to the television screen and in the background, the dance floor was packed with young people like herself drinking and partying, losing themselves to the spirit of the Games. Effie watched as the young man she met last year in the hotel room stumbled through the crowd during the Tribute Parade to find his seat. Never one to miss an opportunity such as this, the camera zoomed in on him and there was no doubt the gossip columns would have field day trying to figure out just what was wrong with the Quarter Quell Victor.

Effie quietly took note of his appearances; his eyes were unfocused and blood shot, his cheeks were puffed, his face was red and his hair had grown slightly passed his ears. The top two buttons of his turquoise shirt were undone with his vest hung loosely around him. There was no doubt that Haymitch Abernathy was inebriated and on national television no less. Effie had never before witnessed a famous figure, worshipped by thousands of Capitol citizens behaved is such an abysmal manner.

He didn't seem at all like the nice albeit pessimistic, snide young man she met. She wondered what happened to him. And then the room began to spin. Effie's heart clenched fearfully when she remembered the things they talked about in the room. For a brief a moment, she wondered if she had a hand in this. _Stupid, stupid girl,_ she berated herself,_ you should never have given him that suggestion in the first place!_

As soon as the fear began to take hold, it dissipated. She was delusional, that was all. There was no reason why she should be afraid. His behaviour and the way he carried himself in public had nothing to do with her. If he was a drunk it was because he had chosen that life. _Perhaps it's just an act, just as you've said – playing it up for the camera._

Still, the worry persisted, hanging over her head all throughout the night. It certainly put a damper to her spirits and Effie found herself not quite enjoying the party as she should. When she returned home that night, she went straight to the phone. She asked for Haymitch Abernathy.

"Is he available this weekend?" she asked, twirling the cords around her finger.

"I'm afraid not, Miss. But there are other options," the woman on the other line said.

"Other available dates?"

"No, Miss, I meant if you would like someone else other than Mr Abernathy."

"No, no. Just… the District Twelve's victor if you don't mind," she insisted.

Effie heard a sigh on the line. "I wouldn't recommend him at all, to be honest. There was an order to hold him back until further notice. Would it be better if you were to assume he was no longer available?"

She sucked in a breath. That did not sound good at all. Her intention of calling was to check if Haymitch was still on. If he had been taken off, it was because there was something undesirable about him. As far as she knew (and that was little for Effie was in no business of sleeping with famous figures), victors have an expiration date. Crude as that may sound, it was true. Their company could no longer be acquired when they reached a certain age and cosmetics enhancement began to fail even the prettiest of the lot or when their performances were deemed unsatisfactory. Effie had heard enough from friends and acquaintances who sampled one victor after another.

"Why's that?" she asked.

Effie could sense the hesitation in the way the woman inhale and fillers began to creep into her speech.

"Ahh, uhh, well…You have seen him lately, haven't you? He is ah, to put it rather delicately, unstable and unpredictable. You understand of course that we only want the best for our clients and with him, there are certain elements of risk involved."

"I – I see. Well, thank you," Effie hung up.

She wrung her hands together, unsure about what to feel. It was obvious that his behaviour had put off some people. Effie sat down on her bed.

_You're like a jewel in this city of dust._

She never really thought about it but now, she sat there wondering what he had meant. Her city was beautiful, it was magnificent and glorious. How could he compare it to dust? What was he trying to tell her?

Effie fell asleep with all those questions plaguing her mind. When the Games ended that year and she no longer saw Haymitch on television, her worries abandoned her and she led her life without him occupying her thoughts.

XxX

Her reprieve was short lived however when months before the 60th Games were scheduled to start Effie's friend approached her with news she'd rather not know; Haymitch Abernathy had been taken off the list completely.

"I was hoping to spend my 21st birthday with him! It would be wonderful, wouldn't it? You had a great time with him two years ago when you turned 18, didn't you? He is so handsome," her friend said dreamily. "His eyes, Effie, they are his best features, don't you agree? But, oh, it's all too late now. I'm terribly disappointed about this. Really, I am crushed. Why do think he's no longer there?"

Effie nodded mutely and shrugged helplessly, incapable of forming an answer. The same worries she had a year before came rolling in again. _Was it because of me?_

She wasn't worried about him. No, she was selfish enough to think about herself. Effie had heard whispers of terrible things that happened to Capitol citizens when they behaved in contradiction against social norms. Especially if it was something the President was not pleased about, which was in essence, actually quite tricky to figure out. How was she supposed to know what the President found unpleasant? Effie was aware that there were eyes and ears everywhere in her City. It was something she had picked up from her father who was always wary and cautious about the things he said in public.

She had nowhere to hide. Her actions and words whether she realised it or not, would have some means of finding its way to the President's knowledge. The very idea that everything was so transparent where she lived and the utter lack of privacy were disconcerting. For once, fuelled by fear that she may have done something wrong, Effie began to question her rights. Surely she had a right to some form of privacy in this country and was the President's actions condone by the society?

Slightly, a week after meeting her friend, Effie received a letter offering her a position as an Escort to District Twelve. Effie was confused to say the least. She had never applied to be an escort having no desire to even work for the Games. Effie was already guaranteed a position in her father's company, one that would ensure her a comfortable life with enough financial without having to break her back working forty hours a week.

She threw the letter away and thought nothing of it until she received a similar letter the following week. Not only was she confused now, but she was curious as well. It was too much of a coincidence for her to find out about the mentor of District Twelve and then to be offered a position to work alongside him.

The unexpected meeting with the leader of Panem came swiftly without any warning or notice. Effie had been picked up and whisked away while on her way home from some shopping. She found herself sitting in his office with her heart in her throat. She was an ordinary girl and ordinary girls do not usually find themselves kidnapped from off the street to meet the President. Perhaps kidnap was too strong a word but something was wrong and she could feel it in her bones.

To make her even more unsettled, she could not glean anything from the President with his back to her. Effie could usually adjust her behaviour accordingly as she picked out social cues and body languages but with the President, she had nothing except the foreboding sense of dread.

"You remember what transpired between yourself and the young man whose company you were in, did you not?"

"Sir?"

He turned his head to look at her briefly before his fingers slid the cracks of the red velvet curtain and he peered outside the window to his sprawling rose garden below.

"He was a prized in the Capitol, sought after by young ladies like yourself," he continued "and you were very lucky, weren't you, Ms Trinket? You were able to spend the night with him."

"Y – yes, sir."

"And how was that night, Ms Trinket? Did you have a good time?"

"I did, sir," Effie answered quickly.

President Snow nodded slowly and deliberately. "Good, that's good. He served his purpose, wouldn't you agree? We all have a purpose here, Ms. Trinket."

Effie held her tongue. She was not sure how to respond and there was something in the President's voice that made her wary and dubious. The dots began to connect. Haymitch had reluctantly admitted that he did not enjoy what he did and at that moment, Effie had thought he had simply grown tired of his line of employment. But, he had served his purpose? That send shivers down her spine especially since she was beginning to consider the possibility that Haymitch had been made to do it.

How could she be so naïve? Effie thought that being a victor meant that they were privilege enough not to be employed as a government official or a business owner or something as equally mundane as that. She had thought that their job was to entertain and if it meant sleeping with someone, then it was a bonus. Effie had not really given it much thought but she was now and she saw the cracks beginning to appear in the way she perceived her world.

President Snow finally lost interest in the outside world. He turned around and carefully regarded Effie. There was something eerie in the way he looked at her as though he was strategizing on how best to utilise her. It made her stomach twist and her palms sweat.

"You spent a lot of time talking to him that night, dear child," he said. "He is not your friend, you should have known that. But you did not. Instead, you planted ideas in his head and you've cost me dearly. I am losing control of him."

"I'm not sure –"

"He has no regards for my authority anymore. He will do what suits him and I cannot have that," he spoke softly. "He is a danger to me, to you and to everyone in this country. He has to be neutralized or kept under control. Are you following me so far?"

Effie blinked. No, she was not following his line of thought, to be perfectly honest but Effie was too afraid to admit that.

"That stunt he pulled during his Games, the reason he won his Games – that was very clever, don't you think?"

"Yes, it was," Effie nodded, utterly confused about why they were even discussing the mentor of District Twelve. She only spent one night with him and that was that. She had nothing to do with him anymore so why was he playing such a prominent role in her meeting with the president?

"It was also unacceptable, Ms Trinket. While he was occupied spending his days with our esteemed citizens, I could still monitor him. His frequent visits to the Capitol was a means for me to keep track of the company he keeps and the places he goes to during his down time but… But, because of you, my dear child, nobody in this City would want to even be associated with him anymore."

Effie gulped and licked her lips nervously. President Snow stepped towards his desk and from one the drawers, he extracted a sleek looking device. With a click of a button, the conversation she had with Haymitch that night in the hotel room replayed itself. Her voice filled the cavernous office loud and clear, and Effie shrunk in her seat.

_"So… So, if you don't want to have to sleep with someone, you could just… say, you can pretend to be drunk? Or pretend you are high on morphling or some other recreational drugs? I'm sure nobody wants to be seen with people like that. It won't be good for their reputation. I, for one, wouldn't want to be associated with anyone of that sort."_

"Sir, that was – I didn't mean …." Effie inhaled loudly, taking in large gulp of air, "I never thought he would – I'm sorry."

She blurted out the apology hoping desperately that it could in some small ways help her.

President Snow sat down across from her. He looked at her for a second before throwing his head back and laughed. The sound made the hairs on the back of her neck stand and Effie wanted nothing more than to run out of the room.

"The current escort for Twelve has had enough with his raucous behaviour. She has retired two weeks ago. _You_ will replace her."

Her head snapped up in shock. "Sir? No, I can't. My father would never – "

"You've committed a mistake. You've committed a near act of treason, Ms Trinket."

Effie had no idea where she found her voice but for the first time since she stepped into the room, she spoke out.

"Sir, I admit that it may have been a mistake but with all due respect, I – It was not my intention to betray this country or yourself. I'm sorry that you think that way and I'm sorry for running my mouth off to him. Please, sir, my father's company – "

The President's lips curled into a sadistic grin. He had allowed her to talk only to interrupt her again when she arrived at the crux of the matter.

"Surely, your loyalty to your country would convince you that you should atone for it? Or are you asking me to place you above the law and let your mistake slide?"

Effie bit her bottom lip.

"That's not what I meant, sir. It's just – All I did was give a suggestion and I did not think he would take it seriously. He turned out the way he is because he had done it onto himself. It is unfair that I would have to take the blame for someone's attitude and behaviour."

Her voice cracked at the end and that was not how she intended it to be. She wanted to be assertive and stand her ground but the situation had proved too much for her to handle. Effie took a shaky breath, willing herself not to cry in front of the president.

"Ah, ah, Miss Trinket. You have much to learn. An idea is all that is needed to spark the flame. Your father created his business by an idea he no doubt had. It took hold of him, and he set it up," the President tilted his head, daring her to challenge him. "Speaking of which, I heard his business is doing well. It would be such a shame if it were to… collapse."

Effie looked at him fearfully; the subtle threat did not go amiss. "For your family to be declared a bankrupt. It would ruin the Trinket's name and reputation, would it not? Something that your father had painstakingly built."

The business was his father's life. He dedicated everything he had to it and her family's reputation was hinged on it. That business provided the Trinkets with the comforts and the status they currently enjoyed and with that gone, her mother would go mad.

Effie gnawed her bottom lip. "If I were to take your offer, sir, then – "

"Then your father would find that the tender he submitted a week ago to have already been approved and waiting for him at his office."

"I was wrong," Effie admitted finally. "My behaviour was appalling and I should have known better."

"Excellent," he extended his hand for a handshake and Effie shook on it. Effie had never imagined that accepting a job offer would fill her with a sense of failure and doom. Her entire life's plan had been uprooted and left for chaos because she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

_Your life's ruined? What about that man whose life is ruined because you might have told him that alcohol was the answer?_

Effie shook her head slightly. Now was not the time to have neurotic breakdown and engage in a conversation with her subconscious.

"Your train will leave for District Twelve at the end of this month and I suggest that you learn all you need to know from the previous escort before you meet your mentor," he advised. "Oh, and Ms Trinket? I will be watching you and your job is to make sure that Haymitch Abernathy does nothing that will jeopardise this country or myself."

* * *

_to be continued..._

__Firstly, I don't imagine this to go beyond five chapters. Secondly, thank you for all the reviews in the previous chapters and the alerts/favourites. Thirdly, yes, let me know what you think of this! And lastly, Haymitch meets Effie again in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

The sweltering heat was making him grumpy and uncomfortable; his crumpled shirt had already begun to stick to his skin and frankly, he couldn't imagine how the hundreds of children currently filing into the Square would fare in this weather. The heat was the least of their worries, though.

From where he was sitting, tucked and forgotten in a little corner of the Justice Building, he could see everything that was going on. Haymitch watched the Mayor peering out of the window worriedly, glancing down at his wrist watch every other second. Haymitch craned his neck to see out of the window behind him, trying to figure out what was making the Mayor nervous. The children had already begun to line up to get their fingers pricked and their identities confirmed.

He took a sip of liquor from his flask. Scant seconds later, he heard the clicking of heels against the floor and woman walked in, flanked by two peacekeepers at her side. She held her head high, looking very important and business-like as was the way of people in the Capitol. He had no idea who she was and he couldn't find it within himself to care at all. He liked being that way – not caring – it made his life slightly easier to bear.

Through the cloudy haze of alcohol and half-lidded eyes, Haymitch watched as the Mayor introduced himself to her before leading her to where he was sitting, slumped over the large sofa. She towered over him in her six inch heels and Haymitch took another sip from his flask.

He smirked. "Hello, doll. Here to reap the children?"

"Mr Abernathy," she greeted, ignoring the slight provocation.

"Haymitch," the Mayor stepped in, "this is the new Escort for Twelve. She will –"

"I can see that," Haymitch interrupted. He turned to look at the woman, "who did you have to kill to get this job?"

Before she could answer, he began to laugh drunkenly at his own joke. She pursed her lips and counted to ten, repeatedly telling herself that it would not be in anyone's interest if they were to argue on their first meeting.

Pushing himself off the sofa, Haymitch swayed lightly on his feet but as he moved to take a step forward, he stumbled and grabbed onto her arm to break his fall. She clicked her tongue in annoyance but held on to him all the same to make sure that he would not fall again.

"My name …." she trailed off, hesitating for a fraction of a second. When they had parted, she had called him a friend but judging from the way things were now and how much both of them had changed since the last time they met, she wasn't so sure that he would treat her with the same polite tolerance he did when she was his 'client'. Being called a 'doll' did not strike her as a good start to any form of working relationship.

"I'm Effie," she said finally. With any luck, his alcohol addled brain would be far too scrambled to connect her with the Effie he met a few years ago. She extended her hand for a handshake but dropped it immediately when he made no move to shake the proffered hand. "The Reaping is about to start so if you could put the drink away and step outside, I would greatly appreciate it."

He walked unsteadily next to her as they moved towards the double door that would lead them to the platform for the Reaping.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Effie."

"What? Just Effie?" he asked but she had already walked towards the microphone, tapping it loudly and making him cringe. He sat down on the chair provided, waiting for the next two little lambs to be plucked from amongst the crowd.

"Effie…" he muttered to himself, searching his fuzzy memory for one that would explain why the name sounded so familiar or why her face seemed to remind him of someone from his past.

He missed it when she read out the names of the two tributes and stared at the back of her light green wig while his brain tried to connect the pieces.

"Have I met you before?" Haymitch asked, uncapping the flask while they waited by the corridor for the tributes to say their goodbyes.

Effie began to pick out the invisible lint on her immaculate dress. "N – no, I don't think –"

She did not have time to complete her sentence when Haymitch exclaimed, eyes wide with a sudden revelation. "Trinket! Effie Trinket. Birthday girl?"

She closed her eyes in defeat. Taking a deep breath, Effie answered, "yes."

In that instance, his eyes raked over her body, taking in her appearance and the way she dressed. For the most part, if memory served him right, she looked as she did that night except for the hideous wig on her head, the light powder on her face and the bizarre eye make-up. It bothered him the fact that he actually noticed that she had blossomed into a fine young woman - Haymitch was a guy and he wasn't blind.

He couldn't help sneering as he scrutinized her. "Came here for me or because you're eager to send little children to their deaths?"

"Why would I be here for you?" she asked, the annoyance she had felt all day long finally creept into her voice. Effie curled her hand into a fist, fingers digging painfully into her palm. She willed herself not to cry in front of him, and forced herself to squash the guilt she felt ever since she found out that there was a possibility she had made him into a drunk. It did not help that his condition looked far worse in person.

"Who knows? Perhaps you enjoyed my company so much, or maybe it's true what daddy said – all girls want a victor – and because you missed your chance, you think you can have it now by working alongside me."

His head whipped to the side and his tongue gingerly touched his inner cheek. Haymitch blinked slowly, waiting for the stars in his eyes to disappear.

"What kind of person do you think I am?" she hissed.

Haymitch's fingers grazed the cheek stinging with pain where Effie had slapped him.

"What do I think of you? Many things, sweetheart," he spoke slowly, adopting the pet name he first heard from the person who sold him liquor. "But right now, let's just stick with the fact that _you_ have just condemned two children to death. What does that make you?"

He gave her a smile that seemed to be almost sadistic and a look of disappointment both at the same time. Haymitch patted her cheek before he gave the last parting words that twisted her stomach.

"And here I thought you were different," he mumbled. "Oh, you're a jewel; you're the Capitol's shining new jewel."

XxX

As Haymitch soon learnt, Effie was a distraction to have at the Penthouse.

Effie was a far cry from the previous escort who as an ageing woman, someone Haymitch felt had been on the job for as long as the Games were in existent. Lucia was a bore, telling him stories from long ago which he clearly had no interest in but ever since he picked up alcoholism as a forced hobby, she had taken to leaving him alone which was something he was glad for.

Where Effie was concerned, she was a tornado of schedules and manners, and it drove him insane. It did not help matters that she was a young woman much closer to his age who insisted on wearing those utterly ridiculous tight pencil skirt and blouse that stretched across her bosom each time she heaved a frustrated sigh when Haymitch ignored her plea to follow her schedule.

Haymitch applauded himself for his self-restraint (not to mention distaste for Capitol citizens after having bedded them) and not once did he made a pass at her or made a move or even flirted with her. That being said, the simple fact that she was there in front of him with her hands propped on her hips as she glared down at him was distracting enough for the young mentor who was trying hard to block her out. Even her wig disrupted his limited attention, the way it bobbed up and down her head as she talked held precariously only by bobby pins.

As he sat staring at her that evening, pretending to be listening to what she had to say, he noted that she had lovely face with round, wide blue eyes that could at one moment kill with a single look or melt someone's else heart in another.

_Stop it,_ he commanded himself.

Effie was definitely a force to be reckoned with, determined to instil some semblance of order and respect into the District Twelve's team. She scrutinized every detail and her insane schedules included herself, the tributes and him. Haymitch never had a scheduled shove in his face before or had his time commanded and controlled. He was not used to having someone as bossy as her around and he soon found himself losing his temper every now and again. They argued and squabbled about everything but ignored the elephant in the room. Neither of them brought up the night they first met at the hotel room.

During her second year, she demanded so much of him that Haymitch found himself slightly sober for the first time in three years. Effie introduced him from one sponsor to the next, marching random people up to him for small talks and to forge acquaintances each time she saw him pouring a drink. If he did not know better, he would have thought that she had done it on purpose, so he would never have any down time for a drink.

"Do it for the tributes," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "at least try to get something working."

Before he could say anything, she was already pushing him towards a middle aged woman whose orange dress glittered whenever the light hit it at the right angle.

The frown on his face disappeared and he forced himself to smile as Thalia Burkinstone began talking to him. Haymitch charmed her for hours and swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he returned her flirtatious gestures. At the end of the day, Haymitch sent his girl tribute a box of matches.

"Good enough for you?" he asked, walking into his room.

"You did a good job," she smiled at him before the door slammed shut in her face.

Much to his chagrin, Effie monitored his drinking whenever she could. He found it odd why she took such an interest in his drinking but passed it off as her wanting the best impression for District Twelve. After all, this was the girl that had told him impression mattered in the Capitol.

That same night, she settled down next to him on the long sofa with her legs crossed in front of her and they watched over their tributes for the rest of the night. Effie squealed in delight at one point when their girl tribute put the matches to good use and burnt another tribute to death. Haymitch made a guttural noise of displeasure.

"That kid she just burnt? He was a child and he's dead. You're sitting here with a smile on your face. You're disgusting," he said.

"She did what she had to do," Effie replied softly, "it's her or him, isn't it?"

"I sent her those matches," he said after a long pause. "I helped her murder a kid."

He didn't pull back when Effie tentatively touched his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I know guilt," she said. "I know how it feels like and I also know that right now, you don't believe a single word I just said but I do feel guilty. Especially… especially about what I've done to someone."

XxX

The next day, Haymitch received a call on the penthouse's phone for an appointment with Thalia Burkinstone. His blood ran cold. Haymitch trashed the living room not realising that Effie was watching him worriedly from her bedroom door.

His share of payment was delivered to the Penthouse an hour before his client was due to arrive. Effie handed it to him, looking at him with concern.

"They put you back on the list," she stated.

"Yes," he answered flatly, his voice devoid of emotions as he swirled the whiskey in his glass, staring at the ice clinking against each other. "You should leave. Go to a party somewhere. She'll be here any minute."

Effie didn't leave, despite being told to. She stayed in her room and through her thin walls she heard them long into the night.

It was not fair. Haymitch had been doing well that year. He drank little; cleaned up relatively well and looked presentable for a change; he socialized with sponsors with some help from her and for once, he managed to send his tribute a parachute. She thought it funny how the privileged Capitol citizens seemed to have forgotten that just two years prior, he had been a young drunk man whom they claimed was wasting his fame and youthful vitality away.

It sickened her how they congratulated her on a job well done and praised her for managing to reign and tame the stubborn victor. She even saw President Snow giving her a discreet approving nod that rare moment he stopped by the Games Headquarters. Effie smiled thinly while pretending to be proud of her achievement but deep inside, she couldn't shake the feeling screaming at her that something didn't quite seemed right.

Finding out that he had been placed on the list again made her squeamish and she couldn't help feeling that it was partly due to her fault. She stayed in bed wide awake, unable to sleep as her thoughts ran rampant feeding on to the guilt that was roiling inside her.

"Oh, you're so good, my love. An absolute beast," Thalia giggled.

Haymitch grunted something unintelligible. Effie clenched her teeth and covered her ears with the pillow, trying to rid the mental image of them. Maybe she should have listened to him and leave the apartment but it was too late now.

XxX

She was sleeping in his bed; in the bed he slept in while at the Penthouse. He needed a different room next year, one that would not remind him of this woman. He wished she would leave. It would have been different if it had been at her place or at a hotel where he could simply just leave when she fell asleep.

Haymitch poured himself a drink from the decanter on the night stand, watching the lump on the bed in the dark. He lighted up a cigarette and waited for the smoke to fill the room. Haymitch didn't usually smoke unless he was extremely distressed like he was now. Soon enough, the figure stirred, batting her hand in front of her face to clear the air uselessly. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask what else she was waiting for.

"I have mentor duties," he sighed, finally, dropping the cigarette into his whiskey.

Haymitch escorted Thalia out to the front door. He had to supress a shudder when she tiptoed slightly to give him a kiss on the lips, her hand moving to his front pocket to tuck a folded wad of extra cash.

"Ta-ta, till next time, my love," she bade him farewell.

Haymitch inclined his head and plastered a fake smile on his face. He waited until she rounded the corner before he slammed the door in frustration. Turning around, he took out the money and threw them into the dying fire in the fireplace. The flame roared to life and the money burnt out bright.

He did a double take when he saw Effie standing by her bedroom door looking at him uneasily. He shot her a glare, furious and angry, and needing to take his anger out somehow.

"Enjoyed the show?" he asked snidely. "How was the party yesterday night? Did you pick a victor to fuck like she did?"

"Haymitch –" she began but he had already grabbed two bottles of Vodka from the bar and disappeared into his room. When the door close with a resounding thud, Effie jumped in surprise.

He stayed in his room until it was time for him to return to District Twelve. In his bag, he had packed more bottles from the bar in the penthouse to be brought home. His hip flask was already half empty and the air in the car stench of alcohol. Effie could not stand the smell but she knew not to provoke him any further. She tried to regulate her breathing as she accompanied him to the train station. Haymitch was not really aware of her presence next to him. He was too busy trying to think of something else to calm his nerves.

_The meadow, the tree, that branch. The smell of flowers during summer. My tree._

Over the next few long years, his drinking habit became considerably worse. Haymitch drank more to forget everything bleak about his life and naturally, his reputation plunged into the sewer. It worked to permanently take his name off the list and for Snow to stop selling him to the highest bidder.

Effie's fashion became more vibrant, more colourful and it became the talk of the City – a fashion icon – as a means to distract the masses from what was truly going on with her. The paint of Effie's face grew thicker as each year passed in an effort to hide the fatigue that had cloaked her, the guilt that came from being an escort and watching Haymitch decline further and further into alcoholism, the worry that persisted in her mind each time she recalled Snow's threat over her father's business especially now that it was obvious Haymitch was well and truly out of her control. She told him every year to control his drinking and help the tributes but it was weak and meaningless because she did not want him sold again on her account if he were to be completely sober. But when more than ten years had passed and the Capitol's fascination with him began to dwindle with the presence of other desirable victors like Finnick Odair, Effie did seriously began to help him ease out of alcoholism. She ruined him once, she could try to save him now, or so she thought.

* * *

_to be continued..._

Do share your thoughts on this chapter! Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

There had been moments spattered across their history together that made her want to step up and inform the media that there was more to the man they had labelled as a drunkard. The articles that were written about him were harsh at best, demeaning to his personality and painted him as a hopeless man who could contribute nothing for his district.

Twice she had brought it up to him, pleaded with him to downplay the drunkenness but he had only laughed in her face.

"It's not an act anymore, sweetheart. This is who I am and you best accept it," he slurred.

"It's gotten so bad, Haymitch, that no one is willing to sponsor us."

"Even if there are sponsors you think those kids stand a chance?" he sneered and she knew that he had no more hope left in him. It was all up to her. She couldn't give up like Haymitch had, the children needed someone to believe in them even if there was nothing much to believe in because the odds were never in their favour.

When the 74th Games rolled around and she had her first volunteer, Effie had been so flustered she fumbled on stage. Her heart sang with the possibility that it _could _be different for them, finally.

The tributes this year, as Effie found out, was no different from the masses. They believed Haymitch was a joke. Effie was furious when Katniss and Peeta burst into laughter and teased their mentor as he fell into a puddle of his own vomit. If only those kids knew the reason behind his alcoholism then perhaps they wouldn't be laughing at him that way.

"So laugh away," she said, stepping over Haymitch's body on the floor.

XxX

The light in the room had been turned down to a soft glow. Effie was just preparing for bed when there was a knock on the door which opened almost immediately before Effie could even respond to it. Haymitch stood by the doorway and peered into her room.

"I'm coming in," he announced.

"Okay," replied Effie, putting on the robe over her night gown. "Something wrong?"

He pulled out the stool that had been stowed under her vanity and sat across from her on the bed. Haymitch told her about the deal he made earlier to stay sober enough to mentor the children. Effie tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed together. She bade him to repeat himself.

"Are you sure?" she asked quietly.

Haymitch ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "The girl's different. I think we might have a chance," he admitted.

"But what if – what if they try to bid for you again?"

He chuckled. "Look at me, Eff, I'm too old for them to put me back on. Besides after nearly more than twenty years of being a drunk, I think the odds are in my favour, this time," he winked, "trust me, nobody wants a piece of me anymore."

"You're not that old, you know," she replied kindly.

"Don't worry," he gave her an amused smile. "They have Finnick to occupy themselves with."

After years of living the life he led, Haymitch had learnt to laugh in the face of despair and his self-depreciating humour while at times made Effie cringe was essential in keeping himself together. Haymitch knew that if he took everything too seriously, his mind would break.

"Have you met Finnick yet?"

"No," Haymitch shook his head. "How is he? Any interesting clients lately?"

"I haven't heard anything on the gossip vine."

Haymitch nodded. "I'll look for him during the Parade."

Since Finnick won his Games and knowing that the young boy would most likely share a similar fate as him, Haymitch had sought him out on his first night with a client the moment Effie told him that a bid was currently going on for the newest Victor.

Haymitch waited by the alley and beckoned for Finnick to join him. The boy had no reason to trust him yet, there he was trotting after Haymitch like a lost puppy. The utter confusion and helplessness on Finnick's face made him wondered if he himself had looked like that all those years ago. Haymitch offered him whiskey from his flask.

Then he took on Effie's role and offered Finnick a way out. The only difference was that he knew what he was offering Finnick, Effie had not when she gave the suggestion to Haymitch years back.

"Someone once told me that impression matters," he paused. He only began to talk once more when the traffic lights turned green and the sound of their voice was drowned by the roar of engines on the road. "Destroy your own body - drugs, alcohol. Anything."

"Is that what you've done to yourself?" Finnick asked, gesturing to the hip flask in Haymitch's hand.

Haymitch did not answer. He didn't need to. Finnick already knew the answer to that.

"I can't. There is … I have a girl back home. Annie's her name. They knew about her and … I have Annie to think about. They'll take her if I don't comply," he admitted softly. "I can't be like you."

XxX

The night the arena exploded, Haymitch couldn't find Effie anywhere at the Penthouse. Every room he searched yielded no results and Haymitch was frustrated. He had just seen her an hour ago and she was gone now.

"Haymitch?"

"Where are you?" he shouted on the phone, no longer caring that the phone was probably bugged.

"I'm – What's going on? The arena … Is Katniss and Peeta –"

"Effie, where are you? You need to tell me where you are!"

"I'm at the hospital, Haymitch. My parents …. My family's dead. I received a call about half an hour ago. They were in a car crash."

Something did not sit right with the information Effie had told him and he had a suspicion that it was no ordinary accident.

"It's not an accident. Effie, you're not safe. I need you to come with me. I …" he tried to figure a way to get Effie without alerting Snow but the only way he could get the message across was through the phone. The moment he mentioned the existence of a hovercraft, Snow would be alerted to their means of escape and he couldn't put that on the line. He couldn't ask Plutarch to fly the hovercraft over the hospital's roof top and risk everyone on it. "I – Effie…."

"It's okay, Haymitch. I'm fine," she drew a shaky breath, "I'm fine. You do what you have to do. There are funeral arrangements I have to make."

"Eff, you look after yourself. Don't do anything stupid."

"Look after the kids, Haymitch. Goodbye."

"Wait – no, don't hang up! You saved my life once, sweetheart. That night at the hotel, do you remember? Stay alive, Effie, I'll come back for you. I'll return the favour."

"I never thought you'd talk about that night," she whispered, a sob escaped her lips. That was the first time either of them had brought up the night they first met. "You're my friend, Haymitch and I've never once apologised. I'm sorry about everything; I turned you into a drunk."

She was crying on the phone and there was nothing he could do. There were things he wanted to say to her but Haymitch's hearing had already picked up the commotion a few floors down. There was no mistaken the commanding voices of Peacekeepers as they stormed the place.

"You didn't know –"

"Don't let him win," she interrupted him. "I know what you're fighting for even if you never told me and you're right to want the Games to end. When he punished me with this job, he never realized that it would make me see things differently. Being an escort opened up my eyes to everything but I was too afraid to voice it out, to tell the world the truth. If there's one good thing that came out of my punishment, it's that I get to meet people like you, Katniss and Peeta. Take care of them, Haymitch," she pleaded with him again.

Haymitch had gone stiff when he heard what Effie admitted. He never knew that nugget of information. _This job was her punishment?_

"I will," he answered. "I have to go, Effie."

"Okay. See you around," she repeated the same words the first time she said goodbye to him.

XxX

The hospital staffs were under orders not to release the bodies of her parents and Effie knew that something was wrong. When the doctors and nurses were occupied with news report of the chaos happening at the Training Centre, Effie slipped out of the hospital.

_Don't do anything stupid._

The same way that Haymitch had often ignored her advice, she was now ignoring his as she holed up in Caesar Flickerman's office, pleading with the host to put her on air.

"Please, Caesar, I know you care about the tributes. You always try to make them feel safer, try to make them more appealing to the audience. You've always had a soft spot for Katniss and Peeta, and I know why. They're different, Caesar. They gave you hope as much as they're giving everyone else in the district some hope to cling on to. Please help me. We could do our part, too. There are things I know about Snow that could shatter the image people have of him."

"We could be killed, Effie. This is madness."

"How long more are you going to stand on your stage, exchange a few words with the tributes, parade them around for potential sponsors then watch them die, Caesar? Look around you, things are happening. Either way, we are going to die. Do you think the rebels will let people like us live? Do you think the President won't come after us? Because they're questioning everyone who is involved in the Games. We're doomed no matter how you look at it. Why not do something worth it while we can?"

Her late father had once told a young Effie Trinket to divide and conquer but she had no idea what it meant. _Divide and conquer. _He had of course been referring to the expansion of his business empire not a full scale rebellion. But she finally knew what the old man meant. It's easier to conquer a divided country.

Haymitch may have his own plan involving the Rebellion that he never told her about. But if she could break the bond of loyalty the people in the Capitol held for Snow by exposing the truth, then it could help the Rebels. The Capitol citizens were useless when it came to combat or any form of fighting but they are loaded with cash. If they felt betrayed by their own Government, they may lend their support to the Rebels and finance the Rebellion.

"Effie, there are – "

"My family's dead, Caesar. I got a call of their demise half an hour before the arena exploded. Haymitch didn't think it was an accident. You know what else I know? Your brother died the same way my parents did, didn't he? Did your brother really drive off a cliff? What business does he have that far out in the Capitol?"

The room was silent. Caesar looked at Effie with an unmistakeable pain in his eyes and Effie knew, if Caesar were to do anything, he would do it in the memory of his brother. It had been a risky gamble. Effie did not really know the details about his brother. The entire story had been fuzzy and murky. The only thing she knew was that Caesar's brother had been in some kind of trouble for trying to start a group movement while in college. The next thing on the news, he had died in an accident.

"Okay," Caesar breathed out. "Okay. Wait here, I'll get a camera."

XxX

If anything was a representation of his life, his room in Thirteen probably was. The ceiling he was staring at for the past forty five minutes was a replica of the four walls; grey, bleak and absolutely void of colours. The walls needed a fresh coat of pain and when he thought of colours, his mind drifted to Effie. She was the only semblance of colour in his life with her outlandish fashion and vibrant clothes. Effie would have wailed at the sight of this room, he was sure. She would have done something outrageous and added some life into it. But Effie was gone and his world was out of colour. He never thought he'd missed it but he did.

The recently developed habit he had cultivated since his arrival at District Thirteen was to absentmindedly slip his hand into his pocket and felt for the butterfly pin to make sure that he still had that one thing that connected him to Effie. He rubbed his thumb on the surface of the metallic pin and traced the circumference of the wings with his eyes closed.

_See you around_.

She had told him that once when she had given him her favourite hair pin and they _had_ met again barely two years later. He had to believe that sometime in the near future he would see her again because that was the only thing that kept him moving forward. The thought of Effie and Peeta lost in the Capitol drove him to wake up each day and fight.

"Haymitch," Beetee wheeled into his room, slightly out of breath, "come with me. Quickly."

He had no desire to move but the urgency in Beetee's voice prompted him to jump out of bed and follow the man without question.

"Prepare yourself."

Beetee led him to the weapons room. Plutarch was already waiting, pacing the room impatiently. Haymitch gave him a questioning look which Plutarch returned with a shrug. Haymitch focused his attention on the screen in front of him, it had been switched on but nothing was on it at the moment.

Just as he was about to ask why he was summoned to a private meeting, one he was sure was not sanctioned by President Coin, Gale Hawthorne entered the room quietly and locked the door. He moved to join the three men and the screen flickered to life.

Haymitch was not prepared to see Effie on the screen. She was alive and relatively unharmed. Once the initial shock had passed, he breathed a sigh of relief. He gravitated towards the screen and leaned forward on his hands.

"Effie? Can you hear me?"

"It's a recording, Haymitch. This is not a live feed," Beetee pointed sadly.

Haymitch gave Beetee a confused glance. Beetee gestured for him to continue watching.

"Are we recording, Caesar?" Effie asked the camera. Caesar must have nodded because on screen, Effie straightened up. "My name's Effie Trinket. We, Caesar Flickerman and myself have a message for you. What you're about to hear will change your world forever."

If the situation wasn't serious, Haymitch would have laughed at the cliché sentence. It sounded like the introductions to some bad Capitol movie he had watched before. Holding his breath, his body tensed as he continued watching. It was obvious that whatever was about to unfold, it wasn't good.

"My family had been murdered recently, for what I believe, was a punishment and a warning for me. A long time ago, I met a young man. I did not know it then, but like me, his family had been murdered for a mistake he made unknowingly. Then he was made to do terrible, unspeakable things because President Snow demanded it of him which I was unaware of but I know now. I was young and naïve and all I wanted to do was help."

Effie paused and her eyes darted somewhere behind the camera.

"I gave a costly advice that affected both of us. I never thought he would take the advice quite literally but he did and turned out the way he is right now. As for me, the President made me an Escort because according to him, that young man was now a rogue whom he could no longer monitor. So, it was up to me to keep him in line. My appointment as an escort was not based on merit; it was because I deserved it. He knew it would ruin my ambition and it would kill me to know that I could not fulfil my father's wishes whose entire business had rested on my shoulders.

There was another pause as Effie took a deep breath.

"What is she doing?" Plutarch asked, stupefied. "Is this recording currently playing in the Capitol?"

"But this isn't about me or about that young man I met," Effie continued. "This is about President Snow and what I've told you was just a sliver of what he was capable of when someone challenged his authority. He did not stay in power because you showed him respect. He stayed in power because he eliminated all his threats. How do I know this? If you look past the façade of grandiosity in the Capitol and into the living conditions at District Twelve like I have for as long as I was an escort, you will begin to wonder how was it possible that there could be two extreme living conditions under a country ruled by the same man. The districts were a threat and he kept them in line by taking their children. He sold Victors. Those Victors you worshipped and loved - the ones you paid handsomely for their company - they were sold and objectified and violated, and you allowed it to happen. Citizens were murdered and then made look like an accident. This is who your president really is. I – I don't know what exactly is going on out there or what happened today with the arena. But I know that _something_ is happening, something is brewing outside of the Capitol, something that has got to do with our girl on fire."

"You have to stop this," Haymitch's urgent voice cut through the room. "If it's playing in the Capitol, you have to take this down Beetee!"

"I can't, Haymitch. The entirety of the recording has been played. Watch everything and I'll explain later."

"This may be the last you see of me. If you don't believe what I'm telling you now, believe in Katniss and in Peeta. Believe in that story of the young man I met. His name is Haymitch Abernathy. Listen to them, please. If there's one -"

Effie stopped mid-sentence, staring at the door behind the camera. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a breath. Off the camera, someone whom Haymitch assumed would be Caesar, gave a dismayed shout. "They're coming, Effie. We should go."

"Run," Effie whispered and reached out for Caesar.

The camera clattered to the ground. The sounds of their footsteps running away from the small room were followed by the thundering of heavy Peacekeepers boots. The door blasted off its hinges. The camera was picked up and the white helmet of a Peacekeeper filled the screen before it went black.

Haymitch collapsed on the seat which Gale had pushed towards him. His legs were no longer capable of supporting him. His hands were shaking and the need to have a drink overwhelmed him. Haymitch felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

"How long ago was this?" he heard Plutarch asked.

"Fifteen minutes ago," Beetee replied. "I was snooping into the Capitol's air waves when I caught this. What does this mean? She is on our side?"

"I do not have intelligence on her alliance but it seems probable now," answered Plutarch.

"That's not possible. She's an escort. She's from the Capitol," Gale said unnecessarily. "She's only doing this to save her skin."

"I am from the Capitol, Mr Hawthorne," Plutarch's cold voice effectively shutting the young man out. He turned towards Haymitch who was staring unblinkingly at the blank screen. "Haymitch? You've never mentioned her before. Did you just leave an escort with questionable loyalty behind to be tortured?"

"I – I suspected," he answered. "It was too risky to ask if she was a loyalist before all this. Before we fled, she said her parents were killed. I had no idea she was being punished until she told me right before we left. I tried to get her out of the Capitol but she was nowhere near the Penthouse. I couldn't risk us flying to the hospital. I should have tried… done something…"

He wanted to say more but the fear was spreading within him and Haymitch was beginning to be consumed by the familiar feeling of guilt; only this time, there was another name on his list. He did the only thing that had brought him some semblance of comfort since everything fell apart; he reached for the butterfly pin in his pocket.

_Be safe, be safe, _he repeated in his head. Perhaps if he repeated it enough he would start to believe that it was possible, that he would see her again.

"Did you know about Caesar?" asked Beetee.

"No," Plutarch shook his head. "If we have misgivings about Snow, we don't discuss it publicly. That is a death sentence."

Plutarch sounded regretful.

"We can't save everyone," Gale pointed out. "They're going to kill her and Flickerman. The Capitol had killed for a lot less, haven't they? This is treason in their eyes. There will be no way – "

Haymitch flew out of his seat. Pressing his arm against the younger man's throat, he hissed, "I suggest you keep your opinion to yourself, Hawthorne. Some of us don't want to hear it."

"I'm only saying the truth of what could happen," Gale pushed Haymitch off him. "If you're not prepared to hear the truth, then maybe you're not fit to –"

His fist collided with Gale's jaw and he felt himself being dragged out of the room by Plutarch. Haymitch would later apologise to Hazelle for attacking her son but he never apologised to Gale for what he said about Effie.

That night when curfew was in place, Haymitch sat on the floor in his room with his forehead pressed against his knees. He tried to think about his place up on the branch of his favourite tree but all he could see was the empty room as the camera fell to the ground and Effie's terrified voice.

_Run._

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**I think there should be only one chapter left after this. So, do review & see you in the last chapter :)**_  
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**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

Caesar Flickerman's body was found hanging in front of his studio as an example of what happened to traitors. President Snow had taken harsh measures to crackdown on those who went against his rule and had given up pretences of accidental death.

Haymitch had not slept for days. He pushed Plutarch to get in touch with his contacts at the Capitol to find out Effie's whereabouts whenever they met.

"She has not been sighted, Haymitch. Take comfort in that," said Plutarch trying hard to ease his friend.

"She's not safe out there. I will not have her killed on sight because the rebels think she is an accessory to the Games or because her fellow citizens think she is a traitor. The video she made with Caesar was only aired in the Capitol. Can't we have Beetee broadcast it again for everyone to see, including the districts?"

"No. If you do that and she gets caught by the Capitol, she will be the one that suffers."

His stress level rocketed sky high when he found out how unstable Peeta was and how emotionally upsetting his condition was to Katniss. He tried to shove his worry for Effie to the back of his mind and focused his attention on the children. After all, he had promised Effie that he will look after them.

"Johanna wants to see you, Haymitch," Finnick stood next to him as he watched Peeta through the glass window.

"I'll see her later," he murmured.

"It seems urgent. You should see what Johanna needs."

"I can't be everywhere at once, Finnick. I am one person, I can't – Sorry," he mumbled mid-rant. "I -"

"I understand. I'll watch Peeta for you," he said quietly. "And I'll keep an eye out for Katniss. Johanna has information on Effie."

His head swivelled in Finnick's direction.

"Effie?"

He nodded. With a promise that he would be back, Haymitch went to the other end of the hospital wing in search of Johanna Mason.

XxX

"Where is she?"

"Where is who?" he frowned.

"Trinket. The escort, where is she?" Johanna coughed. She narrowed her eyes as the nurse on duty placed a glass of water on the bedside table.

"I don't know but Finnick said you have information for me. I have not heard of her whereabouts since the video –"

"She was there," Johanna nodded at Annie, "in prison. In another cell. She was rescued along with us. Why isn't she here at the hospital wing? Annie has been looking for her. She can't find the escort."

"What?" Haymitch gritted his teeth.

His heart skipped a beat and his eyes flashed dangerously at what Johanna just said. Haymitch clenched his fist, his mind already working out, trying to make sense of Effie's absence in the hospital wing. He stared down at Johanna.

"She is very injured, Haymitch. I sat next to her at the hovercraft. Please, will you tell me if she is okay?" Annie pleaded. Her soft voice which was usually soothing to those who listened to it was currently causing him unimaginable panic.

"I don't know where she is, Annie," he admitted the truth. "I have to find her. I need to speak to Coin."

XxX

Effie was being held in the hospital's prison deep underground in District Thirteen. She was not allowed visitors, having been deemed a prisoner of war.

"She's being given medical attention," Plutarch reported. "I can't get in to see her either."

"They're sustaining her. Just enough to keep her alive."

Plutarch did not refute his statement and Haymitch feared that if nothing was done, if her injuries were as bad as Annie had described it to be, then Effie Trinket would die in District Thirteen's prison.

"Let me see her," Haymitch demanded yet again on a different day. "Effie's not a risk. She's harmless."

President Coin turned a deaf ear to his request and continued consulting with her commanders.

"Damn it! What do you even plan to do with her?"

"I'm glad you asked, Soldier Abernathy, but I'm afraid you're in no position to know such confidential information."

Haymitch narrowed his eyes and advanced towards the President.

"If you execute her or let any harm befall her while she's here under your hospitality, you will not have your Mockingjay."

President Coin jutted her chin out and crossed her arms as she gave Haymitch a steely look.

"You will show me a little respect, Soldier. My people saved her life. They rescued her from prison and she can easily be thrown back in," Coin warned.

"Keeping her secluded from everyone and not allowing her visitors? You've already thrown her back in, you've already imprisoned her!" he shouted, spittle flying.

"Haymitch didn't mean to disrespect you," Plutarch was quick to try and diffuse the situation. But there is just the matter of –"

Coin waved Plutarch off like a fly. "You both may say whatever you want but I already have the Mockingjay. The girl made a deal. She becomes the Mockingjay and I grant certain people immunity. Are you willing to risk the immunities I've already granted to these people in exchange for one woman? Because that is what will happen if you stop Soldier Everdeen from becoming what I needed her to be."

"Effie is on our side. Beetee has the video that will prove everything."

"That recording is insufficient," Coin said dismissively.

Haymitch realised that he had been backed into a corner. If he continued putting up a fight, it would not help his position at all. Haymitch owed Effie after she had saved him from a life of continuous prostitution. With a sigh, he reigned in his anger, swallowed his pride and asked, "what do you need me to do to prove to you that Effie Trinket is harmless?"

Coin gave a slow, triumphant smile.

"Keep the Mockingjay in line," she said, "and make sure she does what needed to be done the moment I commanded it."

"And Ms Trinket will not be prosecuted? She will be granted the same immunity as those on Ms Everdeen's list? You understand, of course, that if Ms Everdeen were to find out that her escort's safety had not been guaranteed, it may be difficult to persuade her to do as you command?" Plutarch said in measured tone, trying to subtly intimidate the President.

Haymitch shot him a grateful look.

"We'll see how well Soldier Abernathy performs his job but to show that I am a generous person, you're granted the afternoon with her."

Haymitch sent Plutarch to see her. He couldn't do it. He wasn't sure if he would be able to bear the guilt of seeing Effie in her current state. He couldn't allow himself to spend half the day with her without knowing when he would see her again.

"She asked for you. I told her you weren't granted access. She's fine, she'll live," Plutarch reported that night.

XxX

"Do you think I'm hideous?" she asked him the same question she had been asking for the past five months.

He gave her a tired smile as her eyes sought his in the mirror. "You know my answer," he replied, leaning against the doorframe with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Let me hear it, still. Please?"

"No, you're not."

Effie touched the right side of her jaw lightly, staring at herself in the mirror. A small patch of her skin was wrinkled and red from where she had been burnt while being held captive. Her hands travelled to the edge of the oversize button down shirt that belonged to him and inched it up. She traced the healing scars on her ribcage sadly.

Haymitch had no idea why she insisted on torturing herself that way. Every morning he would find her standing in front of the damn mirror, inspecting herself disapprovingly. On bad days, she would be crying silently, trying hard not to make a sound so as not to wake him and on good days, she would just stare at her battered body.

Enough was enough, he thought one day, and vowed to put an end to it.

"You're only saying that to make me feel better," she answered, "but other people… when they see me…"

Their conversation almost seemed scripted. He knew what she would reply each time and he couldn't help the exasperated sigh escaping his lips. Since the first time he met her, she had always been concerned about people's impression of her and even now, after all she had been through, it was still an integral part of her.

"Maybe all you need is a better mirror," he pointed out.

Effie didn't answer, probably thinking that he was pulling her leg once again. She gave him a rueful smile, smoothened out his shirt on her petite frame and padded out of the room. The next day, the full length mirror was gone.

She turned towards where Haymitch when he walked into the bedroom that morning.

"Where's the mirror here?"

"Gone," he stated. "I told you - you needed a better one."

"You woke up early to throw the mirror?" asked Effie. He shrugged. "Will you be getting a new one soon, then?"

"No. I said better mirror, not new."

"I don't understand."

Moving forward, he stood in front of her and tilted her chin up.

"I am your mirror," he said. "Look at me, Effie. You don't need some blasted inanimate object to tell you how you look. I'll tell you. Every single day. And when I say you don't look hideous, or when I call you a jewel, don't question me. I hate it when you doubt me, do you understand? Stop complaining because I can't stand it and see yourself the way I see you."

Her lips began to quiver. Knowing that she was about to cry, Haymitch gather Effie in his arms and cradled her head so it was pressing against his chest.

"Haymitch…" she sobbed, "Haymitch. Why are you doing this? Why do you let me stay in your house when … All I've done was ruined you."

"Ruined me?" he wrinkled his eyebrows.

"I – I made you like this, didn't I? A drunk?"

She looked up at him when she felt his chest began to rumble. Haymitch chuckled at her.

"You always give yourself too much credit," his lips curled into a half smile.

He looked at her then, gaze down into her warm blue eyes and his hand slipped into his pocket as was his habit. His fingers closed around the familiar, metallic pin and slipped it out.

"You still have it," she whispered, surprise at what she saw.

He tilted his head to the side and with a teasing smile, he said, "Don't know why I kept it. It's the most useless thing."

Effie opened her mouth to protest but Haymitch had already slid the old butterfly pin from their youth and clipped a lock of her hair with it.

"There's a saying that beauty is not what you see in the mirror, it's how you feel about yourself. You should change how you feel about yourself, if we were to go by that saying," his warm breath blew gently over the top of her head as he fastened the clip securely on her blonde hair.

"And where did you hear that?"

He shrugged.

"I gave this hair clip to you. It's rude to return something that was given to you. So, I supposed I will just stay here. That way, this hair clip," she patted it and smiled at him cheekily, "will never leave your side."

XxX

"Where is it?" she searched the vanity frantically. "Where is my hair clip?"

"It's right there, you've put it on. It's on your head!"

Her hand reached up to touch her hair. "Oh," she mumbled distractedly.

"That thing is rusty! I don't know why you insist on wearing something so old," the tall young man grumbled under his breath.

"It means a lot to me," replied Effie wistfully, "and I – I can't go to your father's funeral without it. It makes me feel… incomplete."

She was quiet throughout the service. When their son rose to give an epitaph, Effie still managed to hold herself together. She would not be giving one herself. How was she supposed to put into words the enormity of her feelings and the depth of who Haymitch was into a few short sentences? What she had to say, Effie kept it to herself. In that moment, she wished Haymitch was there to put an arm around her and grumbled under his breath about how she was being unnecessarily emotional but he was gone and he won't be there ever again for her. That thought broke her and Effie finally allowed the tears to fall since the service started.

"Dad said once, that if I ever made Mum cry, he will lock me up with his geese until I have learned the proper way to treat her and I hated his geese, so I try not to make her cry. But that old man made her cry today and I can't tell him that I'll lock _him_ up with his geese," he smiled sadly.

Their son, a spitting image of Haymitch, held her in his arms as they closed the casket and lowered the coffin into ground. Effie never wore the hairclip again after that day. She kept it carefully on her vanity and much like Haymitch had back in District Thirteen, she sought the rusty old hair clip whenever she missed him.

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**I know the ending is rather.. sad? But they've have a grown up son, so, he died of old age! I hope you've enjoyed this five short multichapter fic :)**

**As always, it's a joy to read your reviews and know your thoughts. Thank you for reading & thanks for the reviews, the follows & favourites!**


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